


and when we fall

by herzen



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fantasy RPG AU, Kinda, M/M, but nothing too explicit, tw for mentions of violence + blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herzen/pseuds/herzen
Summary: There's a war, there's a break-up, and there's Wonwoo, seemingly always injured.





	and when we fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikospyrr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikospyrr/gifts).



> hello, dear katsu~ the prompt i went for was adventure, bc im horribly uncreative, i find. i tried writing for most of them, but ultimately ended up with... this. given more time i'd have fleshed out the world more, but i was wrong to underestimate school;;; aasjldh if i'd known i'd gotten u i'd have added in more ~magic, but alas. i wish you'd enjoy this all the same <3
> 
> VERY BIG THANKS TO DANI for being the sweetest and most supportive beta :') ur little comments were the qtest >__< u rly helped me out a lot ty ilu <3 and to the mods who made this exchange possible!!! im forever grateful :'o ty ty for all ur hard work~ 
> 
> (id call this FE au except nothing on here is really a reference to FE except the classes and weaponry. a self-indulgent kinda-RPG au where they're at war and feelings are involved; pls suspend ur disbelief until the end of the fic;;; any war/FE/rpg inaccuracies are on me)
> 
> title is from this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOqenYis1iQ)!

It's hard to keep track of everyone else when around you are delirious men ready to wipe the earth with your blood, but it's not like Wonwoo can't immediately find Soonyoung in the blur of it all when he's always practically on fire. On good days when the air is dry and the heat more of a nuisance than actually unbearable, he holds the orb of fire in his palm like it's a part of his body, using it as a weapon, shooting out beams of flames that burn the manic smiles on their enemies' faces, wiping out the entire perimeter.

Wonwoo'd look up and find where most of the smoke is and immediately know where Soonyoung's at. If not smoke, then where most of the clouds gather over, when he's in the mood to use lightning rather than fire. Surrounded by blackened trees Soonyoung’d stand in the middle of it all, muddied and scratched, but still thankfully intact. When they’re back-to-back Wonwoo can feel his sweat underneath his layers of clothing, his slight trembling, his abnormally overheated skin.

Nowadays he looks up and everywhere it's burning, but there's no concentrated spot where the smoke accumulates. The flames are always indistinguishable, wilder than Soonyoung’s own used to be. Somewhere in the mass of flailing bodies Soonyoung’s fighting his own battles, except now he’s traded books for a sword, fire for stealth. On a more personal level one could say he’s traded Wonwoo for a Trickster[1] they’ve just recently recruited and whom the camp’s still trying to trust. These days when Wonwoo looks up there’s nothing to look for, so instead he stops looking up when he should be keeping his eyes in front of him, where the enemies stand, ruthless and bloodthirsty. In his palm he conjures up as much firepower as he can manage, and yet it’s cold everywhere else, with no one to stand behind his back.

 

*

 

Wonwoo opens his eyes just as Seungcheol ducks under the tent’s flap. Seungcheol’s frown melts away when he sees Wonwoo’s already conscious. Just as quickly he replaces it with a small grin, the one that shows his dimple.

“How are you feeling?” Seungcheol asks once he’s released Wonwoo from a quick hug.

Wonwoo leans back onto his pillow gingerly and waits for his joints to stop throbbing in protest. Other than the muscle pain in some uncomfortable areas he feels okay, definitely more alive than he was last night after they’d left him inside this tent. Jisoo’s healed most of the gashes and stopped the bleeding, and then subsequently passed out once he’s used up all of his remaining energy. Currently Wonwoo’s only capable of the tiniest movements, which really is the only reason he hasn’t stood up and walked back to his own tent yet.

“Pretty peachy,” Wonwoo replies. “How about you, hyung-nim?”

Under Seungcheol’s eyes are caverns from continuous nights of ambushes, losing sleep trying to keep everyone alive. When he grins wide they go up with it, eyes crescent-shaped over them. “Good, actually.”

“Want me to scoot over so you can sleep for a couple of minutes?” Wonwoo offers. Jisoo hates it when perfectly healthy units slept in the other beds.

“I’d like that,” Seungcheol says. “But no thanks.”

Wonwoo shrugs, then deliberately, without breaking eye contact, slides back down so he’s on his back. Seungcheol remains unfazed.

“Soonyoungie’s training,” Seungcheol tells him.

“I wasn’t asking,” Wonwoo says.  

“Want me to call him over?” Seungcheol asks.

“Please worry over Jeonghan-hyung poaching our Tactician[2] more than me, hyung,” Wonwoo says, giving Seungcheol a wry smile.

“Fuck, right,” Seungcheol says under his breath, suddenly looking distressed. “I changed my mind. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when Jihoon’s stopped falling in love with thieves.”

“Aye, captain.”

Later Jisoo arrives and asks, “Is that Seungcheol?” looking over to the direction of the bed beside Wonwoo’s.

“Nope.” As if on cue the blanket shuffles.  “Please don’t wake him up. Jeonghan-hyung’s been stressing him out.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Jisoo says, amused. “Now sit up, Wonwoo-ya.”

Jisoo plants a hand on Wonwoo’s back, the other one around his staff, and starts to do his thing. From behind he can’t see the glow, but he feels the effects nonetheless, the influx of energy distinctly not his own, the way he’s suddenly less sore than he was a couple of hours ago. Jisoo’s really fucking great at doing what he does. In a minute Wonwoo’s slumped forward with his head between his knees, malleable under Jisoo’s hands. If Jisoo wanted to Wonwoo’d do anything for him, suddenly his only coherent thought, which he also says aloud, embarrassment be damned.

“Sure, Wonwoo-ya,” Jisoo laughs.

 

*

 

The last Trickster they had in the group was Doyoon, who was as fickle as he was skillful, as all Tricksters tend to be. When he left it took a while for Seungcheol to stop asking around towns, holding up an illustration he’d asked Mingyu to sketch. Nobody had seen Doyoon nor his accurately portrayed charming smile anywhere for months. Jihoon, too, was more affected than he’d usually let show, so Junhui doubled his hours of air surveillance in search of a lone traveller that remotely resembled him. Maybe he’d found treasure grand enough to retire and fled the country, they said. And they hoped.

They haven’t heard from him for over a year now.

So by the fifth time Jeonghan's tried to steal from their camp Seungcheol's next order had been: Restrain, but don't hurt. Part of it was because Tricksters proved to be an asset in battle. Another part because Jeonghan had stolen so many inventory and gold that Seungcheol’s gotten way more pissed than he was initially amazed. Most of it was because Doyoon leaving still proved to be a fresh wound, so they’d thought to cover the hole he’d left behind, patch it up.

The next time they met in the battlefield Jeonghan was cornered by Minghao's wyvern, whom Hansol had fondly named Mingus.

"I can explain," Jeonghan had said, raising both hands, palm open. He kept backing up while Mingus kept going forward. At the back of his hand, hidden under his sleeves, he had at least 4 throwing knives, which Wonwoo only saw because they were stationed to expect his escape, hidden a few feet behind Jeonghan was. Soonyoung stayed near Jeonghan’s other side, opposite of where he stood. It was an awkward maneuver, talking about what they’d do once Jeonghan had gotten near enough, planning his capture, because at that time it still proved to be difficult having to look Soonyoung in the eye and remember the way Soonyoung had refused to even look at him just days past, when Soonyoung opened his mouth to say--

“I think I need a break,” Jeonghan says now, crossing his legs. “Also, pants.”

(By the third time Jeonghan's tried escaping they stripped him off of his clothes completely. They managed to find 10 more hidden knives in his person and at least 50,000 G, as well as one of Seungkwan's missing tomes[3]. Seungcheol asked Minki, their lone male Troubadour[4], to lend him his lightest, thinnest tunic, then he spent the rest of the afternoon worrying over half the camp falling in love with the Trickster, not counting Jihoon who he was pretty convinced was already a lost cause. He’d walked the grounds barefooted the first few days of his capture, always accompanied by Jihoon and one other willing unit. Jihoon said it was because if anybody even had any chance of successfully talking him into joining their group, it would undoubtedly be him. 

"You sure?" Wonwoo'd asked, feeling like he needed to, a constant unwilling spectator to Jeonghan successfully wooing Jihoon with the most effortless aegyo.

"I am," Jihoon hissed, cheeks perpetually pink ever since Jeonghan had started staying. 

"I'm positive he's in love," Wonwoo whined to Seungcheol later. "I don't want to lose our Tactician, hyung."

"It's fine," Seungcheol said, equally as distressed, placing a heavy hand on Wonwoo's shoulder. "We have Seungkwannie."

Wonwoo said it was probably the switch that did it, Jeonghan stripping off his seemingly perpetual chill state in exchange for the ruthless Trickster they’d seen countless times in battle, a soldier geared up for battle. One minute he'd be taunting the enemy and the next he'd already wiped out their group, grinning wildly, standing over all their bodies.

But Soonyoung said, “Nah, it’s probably the hair,” and then, “Here’s your 1,000 gold coins, you heartless monster,” after a particular battle where an enemy had swiped at Jeonghan’s ponytailed hair and cut it clean off. Jeonghan was pretty mad. Jihoon stayed as entranced as he ever was. “I’m never having a bet with you ever again,” Soonyoung added.)

“You can get pants in prison,” Seungcheol calmly replies.

“You don’t mean that,” Jeonghan pouts.

This discussion’s long overdue. They’ve been planning on dropping Jeonghan in the next city in their destination once they’ve realised it was impossible to talk some sense into him. Jeonghan was an okay unit, helpful in battle and ultimately the most cunning, but also the worst person to trust. He’d sold half their inventory the last time they got distracted. Seungcheol never sleeps easy knowing one day he’d wake up and Jeonghan has run away, Jihoon in tow. Only Soonyoung seems to really trust him, but he trusts everyone anyway.

Case in point: “I’ve got a protege now,” Jeonghan says, wrapping an arm around Soonyoung’s neck and pulling him close. “Right, Soonyoungie?”

Soonyoung nods. “He’s been good these days, hyung.”

“I even helped during last night’s parley,” Jeonghan adds.

“He helped take down the enemies I missed,” Soonyoung clarifies, which really just meant that while Soonyoung did all the work, Jeonghan stayed in the sidelines and cheered him on, occasionally throwing his knives at enemies that approached Soonyoung from behind. After only a few weeks of training Soonyoung’s sword skills are mediocre at best. They’d only realised Soonyoung’s even training to be a Trickster when he’d brought a sword in battle, a fact they’d simply ignored the first few times they’d seen Jeonghan and Soonyoung walking toward an empty field together. Class changes are not rare, but they tend to be, during war. Nobody has the time to train when you fight every other day, much less go through a class change as drastic as what Soonyoung did, going from Dark Mage[5] to a Trickster. Nobody does that.

But Seungcheol is unfazed. Beside him Jihoon stays silent, pointedly ignoring Jeonghan’s unabashed pouting. Soonyoung sneaks glances between them, then at Jeonghan, and then finally his eyes land on Wonwoo, who’s been trying his hardest not to fall asleep after seeing Seungkwan sleeping on Hansol sleeping on Mingus.

It takes an embarrassingly short time, a good 3 seconds, before Wonwoo’s already standing up and saying, “It’s okay, hyung. I’ll help keep watch.”

Regardless of how many times Wonwoo usually fell in battle, having the shittiest defense but also the most devastating damage ever, he’s still one of the only people Jihoon trusts enough to get rid of the leftover enemies, when everybody’s way too exhausted to stand or fight back. Soonyoung’s the other half of the cleanup crew, except now he’s only reliable at best when it comes to using swords. Nowadays Wonwoo does it alone; seeing Soonyoung fighting alongside Jeonghan during battle is enough to fuel his firepower, anger manifested in its most potent form. Jihoon’s pretty fucking pleased.

So it’s no surprise that Seungcheol finally relents. “Fine.”

“I’ll help, too,” Minghao pipes up.

“You.” Seungcheol points at Wonwoo. “Take charge. And you.” At Soonyoung. “Don’t do anything dumb.”

“What about me?” Jeonghan says.

“Try to steal from us again and we’re sending you off to the capital.”

Jeonghan simply grins.

 

*

 

Wonwoo didn’t think anybody else knew about it until after it was over. A day after Soonyoung had broken it off everybody became suspiciously accommodating. It’d seemed only the tiniest bit odd, not enough to warrant probing into, so Wonwoo welcomed any extra food they’d put into his plate or the random massages they volunteered to do for him with a triumphant grin and a grateful heart. It took Jihoon asking him if he were okay sparring with Soonyoung for him to realise that something was definitely off.

“I didnt—“ he’d stuttered to Seungcheol, nape way too fucking warm, a slight tremor in his voice, “I wasn’t—we weren’t— _how_?”

“What’s up with you?” Seungcheol had said, at the time too busy polishing one of his swords, “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Gross,” Jihoon had said, scratching behind his ear, “but sorry, I guess.”

“All of us knew, hyung,” Hansol had said, handing him the game he’d caught. “You weren’t exactly hiding it.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jisoo had said, “Nobody was planning on saying anything.”

“Were we hiding it?” Soonyung had said, seeking him out when he’d disappeared to hear himself think, overwhelmed by the new information. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

Wonwoo couldn’t reply fast enough; he’d stayed clear of Soonyoung the entire time before he’d sought him out, had lost touch with knowing how to hold a conversation. Soonyoung wasn’t even waiting for a reply, already sitting down on the grass beside him. In the dark it was impossible to gauge his reaction, nor see the face he was making. Soonyoung’s voice carried out normally, unburdened, casual. In comparison all Wonwoo had managed was a soft, dumb,  _Huh_ , because what else was there to say? What do you say to someone who always knew what you wanted to push across, without you actually saying anything about it. Wonwoo used to grab at his side with a small wince and immediately Soonyoung would yell for Jisoo’s name, more panicked than Wonwoo even was.

Soonyoung stayed silent all throughout, immobile, and it was stifling, the silence he’d nurtured. It was an ambush attack in its simplest form. They’d been taught: sneak into enemy territory, make the least noise. Don’t alert anything, anyone. When they’re distracted, you strike. Maybe Soonyoung’s always been a Trickster. He was the best at sneaking up on the enemy after all, striking them down with magic, aiming to incapacitate, while Wonwoo waited behind him and did the rest. Even when he’d broken it off he did it out of the blue, with no prior signs of him doing it. Wonwoo was always the one taken by surprise. Even then, sitting in the darkness, he’d stayed still with shock at Soonyoung’s arrival, wondering how the fuck did he not notice him approach.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung eventually said, when Wonwoo didn’t speak, finally standing up. “I’ll leave you be.” As if he hadn’t, already.

 

*

 

In the end only Wonwoo’s left to keep an eye on Jeonghan that afternoon, not counting Soonyoung who was there to train with him. Minghao went away with Junhui and Jisoo for their daily air surveillance duty, leaving Wonwoo behind to watch Soonyoung fail to properly mimic Jeonghan’s actions with the sword. He realises he’s slept only when something trips on his outstretched legs. Immediately he sits up and grips at his tome, a spell ready against his tongue.

It’s only Soonyoung. “Ssh, it’s just me,” Soonyoung says, rubbing his calf. When Wonwoo’d sat up, Soonyoung’d readily raised his hands up in surrender, equally surprised. Now he lays sweaty on the grass, eyes closed. Wonwoo looks around and finds Jeonghan asleep a few feet away, limbs splayed, openly vulnerable. For a Trickster who’d initially never let anyone near him he’s oddly comfortable right now, exposed and easy to take advantage of.

“The only time he’s able to sleep like this is when we’re training,” Soonyoung explains. Wonwoo turns back to look at him, finally meet his eyes. When he’d agreed to let Jeonghan stay it was on impulse; Soonyoung had turned to him for help and the first thing his body did was get swept away by what Soonyoung wanted to happen, opened his mouth to volunteer, knowing full well Soonyoung would have done the same. “At night he gets pretty restless.”

“I would be, too, if I’d stolen from Seungcheol-hyung way too many times.”

At that, Soonyoung laughs. Jeonghan doesn’t even stir. A tiny part of Wonwoo sprouts envy.

“He can’t help it, you know?” Soonyoung continues. Tricksters generally have this annoyingly perpetual need to steal things, Wonwoo’s read in books. Even Doyoon couldn’t help pickpocketing his own people every once in awhile. “Sorry for—“ Soonyoung says, waving a hand that encompassed Jeonghan, the empty field, the grass. Sorry for bringing you into this, he says.

“I’m here to keep Jeonghan-hyung from leaving,” Wonwoo clarifies, already looking away. The last thing he needs right now is pity. “Pretty sure even if I hadn’t volunteered Seungcheol-hyung would’ve put me up to it, anyway.”

“He won’t leave.” The conviction in Soonyoung’s voice has Wonwoo turning around, tiny bit more hurt. As if he’d already known Jeonghan more than everybody, when they’d only met a few weeks back.

“How are you so sure?”

“He’s got a reason to stay now,” Soonyoung says. You? Wonwoo thinks, bitterly. Soonyoung shakes his head as if he’s heard.

“Do you?” Wonwoo asks, before he can stop himself. “Have a reason to stay, I mean.”

“Of course,” Soonyoung replies, just as quickly, and if Wonwoo wasn’t sure whether Soonyoung knew what he’d meant he’s sure now, unable to return the soft smile Soonyoung shoots him with, and for a while he forgets about everything else, the war, the price on his life, the everyday struggle to wake up and face death once again. Soonyoung’d made all of it seem temporary. At night he had sidled up against Wonwoo’s side and run his mouth until the exhaustion took over and shut him up, and for a while it’d felt as if they were the only people in the world, isolated in their beaten up tent. A month after they’d broken up Wonwoo would still look for him in battle, expecting him to turn and grin like he’d always done, a reassurance that in a while everything would turn out alright.

“I’ve got people to protect here,” Soonyoung adds. Wonwoo feels something constrict, a small movement in his chest, a little to the left. It kind of hurts.

“Flirt more quietly, gods,” Jeonghan groans from behind them.

Soonyoung lets out a surprised laugh, and Wonwoo, face as hot as the immediate fireball he’s conjured, aims at Jeonghan, and throws with all his might. Jeonghan rolls away with a cackle.

 

*

 

Wonwoo’s in the middle of tying up his top when Soonyoung enters his tent, carrying so many tomes it towers over his form and covers his face. “Ya, can’t you at least help?” he complains, and then when Wonwoo heads over and gets half of them, “Oh. Uh, sorry for the intrusion.”

Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way Soonyoung’s eyes travel down the expanse of his naked chest, feeling a little smug. After they place the tomes on the floor beside Wonwoo’s lone futon, Soonyoung asks, “I thought you shared with Junhui?”

“I got him to move out when he kept coming in here smelling like pegasus poop,” Wonwoo says.

When Soonyoung moved out Wonwoo was fine alone for a while, but it proved dangerous enough that Seungcheol had to assign someone else to tent with him. Once Wonwoo’d tried to fend off at least a dozen enemies on his own before backup came. His tomes reduced in half after the encounter, and the next time they had settled in an area Junhui’d barged inside with all of his belongings, saying, “Hello, tent-mate.”

Junhui never smelled like Pegasus poop, though. It was a joke. Wonwoo turns around and sees Soonyoung wearing the most heartbroken face. He backtracks, saying, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Seungcheol-hyung assigned him tonight by the edge of the camp in case we get attacked.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Wonwoo snorts and resumes tying up his top. Accidentally, a finger grazes at a raised skin. Wonwoo flinches, expecting pain, forgetting for a moment that there isn’t any to be felt now. The next second Soonyoung’s by his side, holding up Wonwoo’s hands, peering down at the unoffending patch of skin. It’s really no big deal; the wound has closed up the first night he’d gotten it, has gone painless the first few seconds after Jisoo’s laid his hands on him and healed.

“Does it still hurt?” Soonyoung asks anyway, grip growing tight as Wonwoo tries pulling his hands free.

“No,” Wonwoo says. “Sometimes I forget that it’s already healed, is all.”

It was hard to forget, especially associated with how he’d gotten it. The pain’s gone, the bruise on his forearm healed and disappeared, but the memory of what happened is forever a scar: an enemy pushing down with a heavy boot, intending to break bone. Wonwoo was helpless without a tome, but especially more so with both hands incapable of feeling. Panic rose up his throat and stayed there, clutched at his neck so tightly he couldn’t yell out even as he opened his mouth to scream. While his other arm had gone numb, the other one stayed helpless under the enemy’s weight. He was stuck, looking at death straight in the face. They’d gone through training all their teenage years never to give up, surrender, even at a situation where the only thing Wonwoo could do was grit his teeth and not let unconsciousness take over, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared the enemy down. Seeing an opening he’d tried kicking up a limp leg, and was met with a downward arc of the enemy’s lance, landing straight into his side, pushing in.  _Fuck_ , he’d thought, coughing out blood, and for a moment feeling came back in his other arm, clutching at the blade, trying its hardest to push it out and away. Nothing was working. The enemy was fucking killing him. Fuckfuckfuck  _fuck_ —already he was half-dead, bleeding onto the ground. He was lucky his enemy was the type to play with its prey, never to let it die easy. He’d let up his weight with an ugly sneer and geared for another attack, aimed at his skull, and all Wonwoo could do was wait for the lance to come back down, saving his energy for when he had to roll over and attempt one last pathetic dodge.

Then there came fire, large enough that it swallowed the enemy whole. In a second he’d been reduced to ashes by Wonwoo’s feet. Clutching at the open wound he’d stared up and looked for the source, capable of only moving his eyes but not anything else, and that was when he’d seen: Soonyoung’s face against the shadows, looking as if he’d looked at death in the face and dodged its open arms to be there. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” he’d heard, feeling himself get pulled up, crying out in pain as his body was raised and realising how badly in shape he really was. “Be gentle,” Wonwoo remembers saying, and then subsequently passing out once he’d heard Soonyoung give a small laugh, the kind that tapered into a choked sob.

He woke up the next day, Soonyoung nowhere in sight.

“Let me,” Soonyoung says now, sounding annoyed. Wonwoo stops resisting with a huff. Gingerly, Soonyoung places an open palm against the raised skin. Wonwoo didn’t notice it the first time he’d entered but Soonyoung had brought with him a staff, the kind beginners use, and Soonyoung holds it now with his other hand, the one that isn’t against Wonwoo’s warm skin. Then he whispers something under his breath.

No matter how many times Wonwoo’s watched Jisoo do it, it’s still something Wonwoo can’t get used to seeing, awe overriding everything else. When Soonyoung’s hand starts glowing Wonwoo feels stuck in place, afraid anything he’d do could break the spell. In a while the relief comes, seeping into Wonwoo’s being. It’s way different from Wonwoo’s Nosferatu[6]; when Wonwoo uses it the energy’s different, less welcome and more sinister, but that’s because the life force comes from the enemy. With healing it’s different. When you’re in pain the feeling’s more potent, an instant sense of comfort and relief, but even without any open wound to close up it’s still pretty fucking amazing. Right now it’s just a soft nudge, the gentlest of touches, but already Wonwoo’s feeling ten times better, like he’d gotten a few days of sleep instead of just the 2 hours from the night prior. He can’t help it; he stumbles forward, giddy, and Soonyoung breaks the spell to catch him, grinning, “Woah, there.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says against his skin, before he lets up and peels off Soonyoung’s hands with a tight smile. Once the feeling has died down all he’s left with is the usual emptiness. Soonyoung winces as if burned when Wonwoo finally lets go, but he’s quick to school his face into a wide grin, which is actually quite genuine, if his body language’s anything to go by.

“Cool, right?”

Tricksters can heal too, Wonwoo remembers. Sometimes he forgets, the same way he forgets about the other things. Wonwoo thinks about Tricksters and only sees Jeonghan’s winning sneer, the way Soonyoung follows him around like a newborn duckling. Soonyoung’s form in the battle field, unfamiliar in the way strangers are, yielding not a tome but a sword, looking not at Wonwoo but at Jeonghan.

“Show off,” Wonwoo snorts. Absentmindedly he scratches at the wound. It’s thinner now, less prominent.

“I can do that now,” Soonyoung says, a little wistfully. Wonwoo grants him the chance to place his hand back, a simple touch, unmoving.

Wonwoo allows him a second. And then he steps away, and turns his back.

 

*

 

The same way Jeonghan’s only able to sleep when they’re done practicing, Wonwoo himself finds that he’s able to sleep better while Soonyoung and Jeonghan are training. Sometimes he leans against Mingus when Minghao’s around, or on Seungkwan when he’s gotten tired of the stifling Tacticians’ tent and instead studied his books on the grass, on his stomach. When he isn’t sleeping he’s helping groom Jisoo or Junhui’s pegasi, or helping Jihoon go over their tactics when he’s nearby the area. Sometimes he tries riding Seokmin’s horse when he thinks he’s gotten over his fear of mounts (he hasn’t).

Some other times they talk, him and Soonyoung. When Jeonghan’s passed out and Soonyoung’s sore from all the places Jeonghan has kicked against he stays curled up against Wonwoo’s side and Wonwoo lets him, every day feeling less guilty, less upset. It’s been 2 months. They were friends even before they were lovers, people who hung out with each other even without the hurried makeouts they do when nobody’s around to see. If anything the awkwardness should’ve died down as soon as Wonwoo realised it had even become a thing. Severing connections are as dumb a thought as him even considering adopting Mingus’s kids (“Baby wyverns require attention I don’t think anyone in camp is even capable of providing right now,” Minghao has told him solemnly, way too many times before. “That, and Mingus is a man, Wonwoo-hyung.”) Every day is a new opportunity for an enemy to claim lives: friends, family, people you love, and people you’re in love with. It’s dumb to let go of the chance to spend another day with them.

So months after it had ended he’d still turned around when Soonyoung called out his name, making an elaborate flip in the air, maneuvering an attack he couldn’t do the first few times Jeonghan had taught him. “Watch this!” he’d said, annoyingly way too pleased at himself, and Wonwoo did, unable to look away even if he wanted to.

When Soonyoung lays down on the grass Wonwoo lays down beside him. For a short while it’s like it’s always been, but when he turns it’s Soonyoung’s back he’s looking at, never his face.

 

*

 

It’s a continuous struggle to fucking sleep, during war. On a lesser scale the food, too, sucks balls, but at least given a few months of the usual wild rabbit or wild duck cuisine people start to get used to it. Sleep, though, is a different matter. At any given time of day when it’s peaceful enough to let go of your weapon and wear less armor, units are usually seen passed out inside their own tents or in open fields, curled around their different mounts. The longer he’s stayed with them the more Jeonghan sleeps just about anywhere he is able to. People have been less cautious of his presence now, having stolen only a few dozen gold coins, different from the hundreds he’d pickpocketed from Seungcheol the first few weeks he’d stayed with the group. Soonyoung’s getting more and more familiar with the sword as well, none of the novice Jeonghan had taken up under his wing a few months back.

“My little grasshopper’s all grown,” Jeonghan says, wiping a non-existent tear, before he disappears into the forest and naps under the shade of a tree, only reappearing once Mingyu’s called everyone over for dinner.

During battle, though, he’s awake as ever, just like any other unit. No more is the lethargic mass that they are reduced to when the day is nice and enemies are absent. Chan is still capable of massacring a group of enemies in less than a minute, yielding only a sword and his shield. Hansol hides out by the edges of the camp and shoots down the larger foes with his well-aimed arrows, once or twice targeting a flier near enough to be hit. From above they have Minghao, Junhui, and Jisoo battling their own battles with the enemies’ own flying units, wreaking havoc in midair so loudly you can hear Junhui’s peals of amused laughter from below. Manaketes[7] like Jieqiong and Siyeon are devastating when angered. Nayoung leads her own group of Fighters[8] through the middle of the group, Minkyung and Yebin by her sides, yielding their own axes. Mingyu leads his pack of Taguels[9], while Seokmin marches by his side with his own mount, grip tight around his lance. At the front of the group stands Seungcheol, with Jihoon—sometimes with their novice Tactician Seungkwan, when Jihoon’s too busy helping out the ones in the back. Any other time Seungcheol’s busy with his own battles there’s Dongho and Jonghyun wiping out as many foes they can, equally as capable.

At the back of the group Wonwoo stays with the healers and the other mages, units better off behind everybody else because of their shitty defenses. He cleans up after everyone, silently taking out weakened enemy by weakened enemy, draining them of their life forces to feed his own. Troubadours Minki and Yewon are way too vulnerable to be left alone, so Soonyoung and Jeonghan stay with them, technically healers themselves, just armed.

In battle Wonwoo doesn’t look for Soonyoung anymore, but it’s not like he’s strayed far: when Wonwoo falls, dodging an enemy’s attack, Soonyoung is there to counter, already punctured the enemy’s chest with a bloodied sword. It took a while to get their rhythm back, Soonyoung yielding swords now instead of a tome, but battle after battle they find they’re back next to each other in battle, like before. 

Sometimes Wonwoo thinks,  _Maybe it is better this way_ , except nothing’s really changed. The fear in his bones is still as chilling, as gripping. When he turns sometimes Soonyoung’s not there and for a moment he’s disoriented, eyes falling down to the floor in a flash to look for his felled friend. But Soonyoung never falls; he’s still there, guarding his back, fighting his own battles.

Even after it’s ended he’s still as fucking terrified as ever to lose him. So he grips twice as hard at his tome and widens his range of attack, face forward, deflecting more hits than really causing damage, afraid of missing one and having it hit Soonyoung instead.

 

*

 

Soonyoung’s still passed out. Wonwoo’s only managed to stop trembling minutes ago, as he’s pulled out from Jisoo’s tent and led to his own. Healers are busy, Seungcheol even more so as he tends to their inventory and the felled units, knowing their names, honoring their deaths, so Wonwoo grips at his own limp arm and waits for the pain to grant him mercy and claim his consciousness.

It doesn’t come.

He’s awake for hours, it feels like. Salves are useless, but at least the blood’s stopped leaving his body. There’s just nothing to be done about the pain without an actual healer’s help.

“You look like you need some help,” comes Jeonghan’s voice from the entrance of his tent. Wonwoo opens his eyes and Jeonghan looks as exhausted as he feels, bags under his eyes twice as heavy than usual. Outside it’s gone thankfully quiet, save for a few isolated yelling for more equipment, too far away to really be loud enough to be obtrusive. Wonwoo drowns them out, mostly, too preoccupied with his stubborn arm.

“Here, let me.” Jeonghan peels off Wonwoo’s fingers one by one, uncharacteristically gentle.

In a while the pain dulls, then tapers off into nothing. Jeonghan doesn’t let up even as the wound closes up, eyes green with the glow. Sleep that’s eluded him just hours ago is suddenly seeping into his being, seemingly from Jeonghan’s own body. Jeonghan notices him squinting to keep from falling asleep, and smiles, amused.

“You can sleep, Wonwoo-ya.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. Already he’s as comfortable as ever, even as the ground digs into his back through his thin, beaten up futon, entranced by the way Jeonghan’s hand on his skin glows in the dark of his tent.

“I won’t steal anything, I promise.” Slowly, the green glow dies out. In the sudden dark he can’t see shit, but when he feels Jeonghan start to stand up, he reaches out blindly to grasp at any part of him, and then pull.

“Ow,” Wonwoo says, as Jeonghan twists his arm back with a force that seemed foreign for his type of body. “Ow, okay- _-ow,_ sorry, gods.”

“Oops.” Jeonghan lets go. “I do that sometimes. Instincts, sorry.”

Soonyoung’s also been like that. It probably comes with being a Trickster. There isn’t a time when Wonwoo wakes Soonyoung up from his afternoon nap without fearing for his goddamn life. More than once Soonyoung’s put a pocketknife against Wonwoo’s vulnerable neck, directly above his pulse. Soonyoung’s weight is heavy against Wonwoo’s entire chest down. Half-awake, Soonyoung’s amazingly way too ready to kill, so Wonwoo drives a current against Soonyoung’s hand, the one on his throat, and watch with mild amusement as Soonyoung yelps out and falls back on his ass, clutching at his now numb hand. “Asshole,” he grits out, rubbing at his arm. Wonwoo would reach out an open palm, ignoring the warning the bells in his head, the one that kept reminding him of their shared past, and say, “Here, I’ll massage it for you.”

“How’s Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks, sitting up so he can light a nearby candle. Junhui’s gone off to help tend the other mounts, lending a helping hand as Jisoo healed the other fliers.

“Asleep, but alive,” Jeonghan says. “He’s been okay for hours, Wonwoo. No need to worry.”

The problem is Wonwoo never stops worrying. Soonyoung took a hit while he wasn’t looking. When he turned back to check up on him Jeonghan was already dragging him back towards the Healers, and all at once Wonwoo’s vision darkened, senses focused only on the way Soonyoung’s breathing slowed, and kept slowing. The blood that dripped down the side of Soonyoung’s face burned Wonwoo’s eyes the way afterimages stay behind your lids even after you’ve closed them. For a while the battle was nonexistent, forgotten. An enemy surged forward while Jeonghan struggled with the entirety of Soonyoung’s weight, and Wonwoo didn’t even think about it, an open palm already shoved upwards, facing the sky.  _Thoron_ , he’d yelled, and watched as a bolt of lightning dropped down exactly where the enemy stood. In seconds the area was scorched, enemies near enough the crash site burnt to a crisp. Jeonghan laid motionless, clutching Soonyoung’s unconscious, limp body. On his face was an expression Wonwoo knew all too well as potent fear. At him, or at something else, Wonwoo wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. More enemies intercepted as he made his way towards them, and for a moment he’d been overcome with only white-hot rage, gritting out “ _Get out of my way,_ ” before opening up another tome and summoning flames that burnt through enemies’ armor and then skin and then bones, leaving nothing but ash that the evening wind picked up and then pushed around. It rained ashes where he stood. His hand, initially intact, throbbed red from the exertion. With no more enemies nearby he’d let exhaustion take over his body, but not before searching the area for any sign that Jeonghan had managed to escape. When he’d come to he was in Jisoo’s tent once again. On the bed beside his laid Soonyoung, eerily still.

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says.

“Seungcheol’s order was for you to never to leave this tent, you hear?” Jeonghan says. “Leave and you’re sleeping with the pegasi, he says.”

When Wonwoo doesn’t even react, Jeonghan lets out a sigh. “Soonyoung’s going to be okay, Wonwoo. Gods.”

“I know.” Deep inside he’d already known that Soonyoung had made it. Watching his prone form he’d waited for the tiniest sign of life, ignoring how his body protested as he’d gotten up from his own bed and walked towards Soonyoung’s own. Didn’t stop him from waiting for him to wake up, though--fear settling in his bones that maybe, just maybe, he’d thought wrong.

 

*

 

That first time the door to the infirmary opened to a disheveled Soonyoung, Wonwoo had said, “Dude. I’m okay,” because he really was. While he snacked on the fruits by his bedside table Soonyoung prattled on about running the entire length of the training grounds thinking he’d died. “I fell off Mingus, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo’d said, feeling tired of listening to Soonyoung’s never-ending complaining.

“You fell off Mingus from a few hundred feet off the ground, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung protests, clutching at his hair, pulling so hard it looked like it hurt.

“Yeah, and Jisoo-hyung caught me.” Wonwoo pointedly turned his face away then, because minute by minute Soonyoung was getting redder and redder with anger. “I don’t get why you’re so angry.”

Soonyoung was yelling at that point. “ _You fell off Mingus from a few_ —“

Wonwoo stretched an arm, reaching out to slap a hand against Soonyoung’s infuriatingly loud mouth. What happened next: pain shooting up Wonwoo’s spine from his prior fall, making him droop down against Soonyoung’s side. He let go of the apple he’d been chewing to grasp at the small of his back, face contorting in pain.

“Gods dammit, Wonwoo.” Soonyoung was hysterical. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“

“If I die right now I want to die quietly, thank you very much,” Wonwoo’d gritted out, while Soonyoung did his best to massage at the spot. The pain wasn’t subsiding at all. Wonwoo looked up from frowning at the bedsheet to tell Soonyoung how useless he was, please call Minki-hyung over for me, and instead felt the words die down on his tongue when he saw Soonyoung’s still-red face.

Soonyoung was sobbing. Fat tears rolled down his eyes and pooled at his already wet philtrum, along the side of his jaw where they collected until they were heavy enough to fall, staining Wonwoo’s clothing.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung said, voice wet, his other hand wiping away his tears while the other pushed down on Wonwoo’s skin. “Fuck, does it hurt? Fuck, Wonwoo, you could’ve died, fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying ‘fuck’,” Wonwoo said. Soonyoung’s hand did nothing to ease the pain, but Wonwoo found he didn’t have the heart to tell him to let go. Soonyoung kept muttering, fuck, Wonwoo, fuck, why aren’t I a healer, what the fuck, am I helping, fuck, does it still hurt?

And Wonwoo found it easier to lie through gritted teeth, half-smiling, half-grimacing, that, Yeah, it didn’t hurt anymore, even if it still did. Even if it hurt so much he couldn’t sit up properly, then afraid he’d stay bent forward for the rest of his life.

In a few years they learn to effectively control the tears, when one so much as gets injured. At 16 Soonyoung was hot-blooded and emotional, Wonwoo equally as easily swayed, but at 21 they’ve learnt to steel their emotions. When Wonwoo fell in battle Soonyoung didn’t cry anymore. Wonwoo woke up and he’d be sleeping by his side, or snacking, or chatting with whomever tended Wonwoo while he slept. The rare times Wonwoo woke up before Soonyoung realized he did, he’d croak out his name, and watch through a hazy, slow motion sequence, as Soonyoung’s face opened up like flowers in the spring to the sun. He didn’t hug him, usually, afraid of inflicting more pain, but he’d grasped at Wonwoo’s hand as if his life depended on it, never uttering enough comprehensible syllables in fear of breaking down. “Good, you’re awake,” Soonyoung would say, voice heavy and eyes way too bright. “You scared me, what the fuck.”

One particular time Wonwoo woke up and Soonyoung was still asleep by his bed, a loose hand against his own. There was mud on the sheets from Soonyoung’s dirtied cheek, as if immediately after training he’d gone over to stay by his side. When Wonwoo so much as moved his hand an inch away Soonyoung immediately jolted up, eyes glassy. And then, seeing him, his eyes cleared up, his mouth breaking into a wide, relieved grin.

“Yo,” Soonyoung said, voice quiet.

“Yo,” Wonwoo replied.

Fuck it, Wonwoo’d thought, overcome by an overwhelming sense of haste, and leaned forward. He removed his hand from Soonyoung’s hold and placed it against Soonyoung’s cheek, keeping him in place.  _Is this fine?_ he’d asked, not with words, but with the gentle movement of a thumb. Soonyoung nodded, as if he’d understood. When their lips met Wonwoo smelled fresh grass and the subtle scent of singed hair. Soonyoung moved as if he’d expected it. Had been expecting it for a while now. Soonyoung was clumsy, obviously inexperienced, yet overall way too enthusiastic, but it wasn’t as if they’d messed around with anybody else when all their life they’d spent it on training for war. Once or twice they’d pursue some girl or guy they thought was pretty, but it was rare to develop any more feelings from the initial attraction. In war the opportunities to fall in love was rare, so this was special, whatever this was. Whatever Soonyoung was. Wonwoo had made noises he never imagined hearing come from his own mouth. Amidst the haze of half-consciousness Wonwoo registered only Soonyoung’s soft, yielding mouth, his insistent tugging. The tiny voice in his mind that berated him for never thinking of doing this before it’d happened, the feeling deep in his gut that he’d like to do this again, and again, and never stop. War loomed over their entire waking mornings, the only thing they had kept in mind for years, anything otherwise pushed to the corners to collect dust. 

When Wonwoo’d pulled away Soonyoung took it as a cue to follow, wasting no time climbing up the bed. “Woah—“ Wonwoo managed to let out, before Soonyoung’s tongue was back in his mouth, half his body splayed on top of Wonwoo. Soonyoung’s other hand dragged down Wonwoo’s front, and then lower, a path of heat that didn’t have anything to do with magic.

“Took you long enough,” Soonyoung muttered against Wonwoo’s jaw, when they’d separated for breath.

Wonwoo gasped, first, before he grinned into Soonyoung’s hair, finally pulled him up on the bed fully, and said, “Yeah, sorry.”

 

*

 

They bury the felled units, the ones who still had bodies to bury, in the forest the next day. Seungcheol oversees the rites. It’s common procedure now, to feel not remorse but peace when a friend falls, happy that they’re finally free from the task the country imposes. Some of them are way too young to even be holding a knife. Year after year the cutoff seems to get younger and younger. Dongjin had been especially talented, but ultimately unprepared; the first of the young ones who’d felled. After the funeral’s over they head back and prepare for another journey towards the enemy borders, generally more somber, but no less determined to continue moving forward, helping the country in the only way they know how.

Wonwoo and some of the other tome-users head out to a nearby town to gather some more materials. Visiting the towns are the hardest, even more so compared to actually fighting at war. When they walk along the deserted streets they are met with despair that shouldn’t even be unfamiliar to them, but at a degree more heartbreaking. Fear in the kids’ eyes, and the usual scorn from the adults. When they’re lucky a villager helps them, but ultimately they’re unwelcome. War dogs, they whisper. Hansol took it the hardest the first few times they’d walked through, which is probably why Seungcheol never lets him go with them now. The extra food they have they hand out to the chiefs, which is either accepted with a grateful heart or a bitter side-comment, meaning to wound. Every now and then a hysterical housewife would clamber along the streets and hold tight around their legs, looking for their sons, cursing the government, and to some degree, the national army--them. Wonwoo always comes back to camp never wanting to talk to anybody for a while, instead holing up in his tent unless they needed him out.

This time he doesn’t go straight to his tent; he heads straight for where the injured are. Soonyoung’s still asleep. There’s a fresh scar right down the side of his face, mere raised skin that probably doesn’t hurt anymore, and when Wonwoo slides down a finger along the length of it Soonyoung entire face moves, a little, and then stops. He wakes slowly, as if drugged, different from the way he woke ready to pounce on Wonwoo during his afternoon naps.

“Yo,” Wonwoo says, sitting down beside him.

“Hey.” Soonyoung blinks, just as slowly as he’d initially opened his eyes, and then closes them again for a while. Wonwoo waits all the same, content with just being there. When the people turn their back and the doubt settles in his gut, Soonyoung’s always been there to break him out of his reverie, to remind him of where he belonged.

As Soonyoung finally opens his eyes for real, clear with consciousness, Wonwoo feels something disintegrate in his throat, and then disappear.

“I’m okay, now,” Soonyoung reassures him, shooting a small smile, and they’re not teenagers anymore, not kids with the least control over their emotions. And yet sitting there as Soonyoung grips at his hand it’d felt as if they were 16 again, way too young to know what the world is like outside of the confined training grounds, confused as to why a friend cried until his face went red even if he weren’t the one who’d escaped death from a fall. Soonyoung’s the crier between them, everybody knows all too well. When Wonwoo opts not to speak, panicking at the quick pace his eyes fill with tears, Soonyoung merely gives his hand a firm squeeze, a reassurance, and politely looks away.

 

*

 

Chan says Seungcheol wants him on inventory duty, so Wonwoo follows him towards the said tent and doesn’t say anything when Chan pushes him in, yelling, “I got you, hyung!” and runs away. It’s a distraction. Leave people be and they tend to sink deep into their fears, suffocate under the threat of danger in ever lurking shadow. This way they collectively forget the shit they have to go through, still not knowing if it’s the right thing, just that it’s what the country wants them to do. This way they are able to focus on the little problems first, the everyday ones, because accumulated it’d seem big enough to encompass the losses, the fallen comrades, the moral compromises.

This meant that these days units go through the most elaborate trouble just to have Wonwoo and Soonyoung alone together.

“Mingyu-hyung wants me to rub his belly,” Seungkwan said, when Wonwoo asked him to help pick berries. “I’ll call for Soonyoung-hyung instead.”

“I can’t sleep here today, I smell like pegasus shit.” Junhui smelled perfectly fine. “Want me to call Soonyoung over?”

“I’m training with Myungho today,” Jeonghan said with a wink. “Look after Soonyoungie for me.”

Every day is a new excuse, a new creative reason why Seokmin couldn’t go feed the mounts with him, or why all of a sudden Jisoo couldn’t be his sparring partner.

“What is it this time?” Soonyoung asks, grinning up at him. He stands up from his crouch to stretch, joints cracking, making Wonwoo think about how long he’s been holed up here.

“Said you needed help with the inventory?”

“Done with it ages ago,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve just been dicking around in here.”

Huh. That’s new. “Want me to go look through everything anyway?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

Wonwoo spends an hour going through Soonyoung’s list, comparing his numbers to the actual weaponry they have stored. Wonwoo walks around the tent and does it as slowly as he can, just to make sure, but also to see if Soonyoung’s going to leave. Soonyoung doesn’t. Once Wonwoo’s finished he turns to see Soonyoung sleeping on top of a crate, way too comfortable even as blades threatened to pierce his skin at the slightest movement.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, moving the swords away before shaking him gently awake. “Soonyoung, wake up. Sleep in your own tent, jeez.”

Soonyoung doesn’t stir the first few nudges, but he does open an eye once Wonwoo’s increased his shaking, added in some slaps for good measure, too. “You done?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. “I’m leaving now. You should, too. Why’d you stay?”

Soonyoung yawns, the big gross kind, before he sits up and answers, “Was waiting for you.” He says this plainly, a mere mention of obvious facts. “I wanted to talk,” he adds, finally hopping off the crate to stand in front of Wonwoo.

“Huh.”

“Is it okay, to, um—“ Soonyoung waves his hands around, sentence cut off, obviously confused as to what he needs to say next. They suck at shit like this. Talking about feelings. Nothing concrete. Actual communication. Seungcheol used to sit them all down in a circle and have Soonyoung talk about his experiences, and from the other side of the circle Wonwoo whooped and cheered, an actual MVP, but really, how do you say I was fucking scared to a group of people who already knew what it felt like?

Soonyoung inches towards him, raises his hands plaintively, waiting for Wonwoo to react. When Wonwoo doesn’t stir clear of his hands Soonyoung plants them lightly against the column of his neck, then slides them up, cupping Wonwoo’s jaw. Soonyoung takes his freezing up as a sign to continue. He wiggles his eyebrows provocatively, as provocatively as eyebrows can get, really, but the magic is lost when Wonwoo feels the slight trembling of his fingers on his skin. When he finally brushes his lips against Wonwoo’s he’s still infuriatingly slow, unnecessarily careful, but Wonwoo lets him be. Lets him find his way back, step by step. Soonyoung smiles and Wonwoo feels it fully, the slight movement, the clack of teeth. It’s horrible. It hasn’t been that long and already Soonyoung’s forgotten how to kiss properly, but fuck if Wonwoo isn’t the least bit into it, growling low in his throat that Soonyoung giggles, surprised, already pulling away.

“Again,” Soonyoung says, mouth distractingly way too wet.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, already surging forward, but Soonyoung doesn’t move to meet him.

“No, I meant,” he says, quietly, as Wonwoo leans back to search his face. “That I’d like to try again—“ Soonyoung looks down. “—with you.”

All at once a heaviness hits him, not unlike the enemy’s boot against his arm, except this one is tolerable, doesn’t kill. Wonwoo looks up and finds himself disoriented, seeing different things all at once, but ultimately the same: just Soonyoung, small and unsure and guilty and scared. For a while Soonyoung doesn’t raise his head, a hand loosely holding onto the fabric of Wonwoo’s top.

“I got scared,” Soonyoung continues, still as quietly as before. Wonwoo doesn’t understand until only after Soonyoung’s placed a hand against his side, over his clothing. Over his wound. “You weren’t waking up.”

When Wonwoo was well enough to, he’d gotten out of the tent for the injured alone, because he’d woken up and Soonyoung wasn’t even there. Soonyoung was in their own tent, awake, staring at nothing in particular. He’d looked up when Wonwoo arrived, and his expression then was unreadable, closed off, impossible to decipher. That never happened. Usually Soonyoung was an open book, the type to wear his heart on his sleeves. Look at his face closely enough and you'd know if he were lying, or not. "I'm not mad," he'd say, but his face was pink, his stance firm. That night he'd smiled once Wonwoo had gotten close enough to touch, spread out his arms, and said, Yo, Wonwoo-ya. Wonwoo ignored the way his smile didn't reach his heavy eyes; a simple show of teeth, not unlike a grimace.  

A few days later Soonyoung had said, “I think I need a break.” He wouldn’t meet Wonwoo’s eyes. He’d been quiet the whole day. This was the night Wonwoo’d prodded at his newly healed wound, saying “That was close, huh,” hoping Soonyoung would get intrigued enough to turn and face him in their shared futon. But Soonyoung stayed motionless, his back a deliberate wall. Wonwoo’d thought he was asleep. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet, like he'd pushed it out unwillingly, like a breath he'd been holding.

“This—whatever this is—we’re at war, Wonwoo-ya. I don’t think…” he’d trailed off, and then fallen silent for the entire night. He’d left it at that, but it wasn’t as if there were room for any other interpretation.

In a week they successfully captured Jeonghan. A few days after Soonyoung had moved out to sleep in the tent Jeonghan stays in instead. I’ll keep guard, he’d said, as he packed his limited belongings. Wonwoo didn’t fail to notice how he’d only left his tomes behind.

“All our years training and they never taught us about this, huh?” Soonyoung says now, still studying the earth under their feet, refusing to look Wonwoo in the eye. “No one to sit us down and teach us how to cope with loss, what to do when it comes, how to deal with the aftermath. All I’ve learned was how to deal the most damage possible without compromising my own energy, dodging attacks, countering attacks, never letting the enemy get the upper hand, shit like that.”

“What are you getting at?” Wonwoo asks.

Soonyoung does not reply immediately. He breathes in deeply first, as if readying himself, and then repeats, this time louder, “I got scared.” After what felt like forever he finally raises his head up, looking Wonwoo in the eyes as he admits, “I thought if I’d break it off it’d hurt less.”

The feeling doesn’t come until after Soonyoung actually attempts to lighten the mood by tilting his head and scrunching up his nose, the best way he knows how--but once Wonwoo’s gotten over the initial shock he simply blinks at Soonyoung’s tiny smile and finds that he’s suddenly very, very livid.

“I’m giving you a chance to think about what you fucking said,” Wonwoo says evenly, because what Soonyoung said sounded stupid, really fucking stupid. All these months he’d thought hard about what made Soonyoung turn his back on their--their--(“You could say ‘relationship’, Wonwoo-ya,” Soonyoung used to tell him, laughing when he’d turn red in embarrassment), only to finally find out today that it’s just because of the most ridiculous reasons, as if Soonyoung’d already resigned himself to having Wonwoo die before him, readying his emotions for when that time would undoubtedly come.

Wonwoo feels his blood pressure spike up when, Soonyoung, for some unknown reason, actually fucking laughs. “Yeah, it was a dick move. I know, I know—I’m  _sorry_. Are you mad? You look red in the face. Please don’t be mad, Wonwoo-ya.”

“Are you kidding me?” Wonwoo hisses. “I’m fucking  _furious--_ ”

He should’ve brought his tome. Makes thrashing the place easier. He looks around and remembers exactly where they are, the perfect place to wreak havoc with the needed weapons to do it to boot. He’s already eyeing on the nearest lance when Soonyoung pulls at the cloth of his top to grab his attention, suddenly looking very unsure.

“I just--” Soonyoung starts, wincing a little, “--didn’t know what I’d do, Wonwoo. If I’d lost you then.”

“But you  _did_ lose me,” Wonwoo spits out, still fucking angry. “We’re surrounded by a bunch of weapons, Soonyoung-ah. Be careful of what you fucking say.”

Again, for some unknown annoying reason, that has Soonyoung laughing a little. “What’s so funny?” Wonwoo asks, momentarily dazed, distracted by the way Soonyoung’s eyes turn into narrow happy slits.

“Did I, though?” Soonyoung says with a small smirk, once the giggling’s stopped. Wonwoo reaches out for the nearest metal on impulse, which turns out to be an axe. It’s impossible for him to carry it with one hand, which he’d intended to do, so he salvages the attempt and swerves his hand back to hit Soonyoung in the face instead. It’s a pathetic slap, playful in any other context. Soonyoung lets it happen, doesn’t even try dodging, as if already waiting for it. Wonwoo gets angrier at the peaceful look on Soonyoung’s face. He gears up, ready to hit for real this time. Soonyoung closes his eyes, and waits for it.

Wonwoo does instead: place his open palm against Soonyoung’s vulnerable cheek, touch gentle.

“You’re right. You didn’t,” Wonwoo admits, moving a thumb, grazing Soonyoung’s cheekbone. Soonyoung winces all the same, and this makes Wonwoo smile. “I’m still here, with you. Listening to your selfish bullshit. Hearing you spout the dumbest shit from your mouth and still deciding to stay through it all.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says, and when he turns his face back Wonwoo cups his palm, holds it against Soonyoung’s yielding cheek. Wonwoo traces a finger against the place Soonyoung’s new scar used to be on, touches only smooth texture. The scar’s healed, but the experience is forever ingrained in Wonwoo’s memory. Soonyoung being carried away as he bled against Jeonghan’s entire chest, his limp hand, the bloodied side of his face. His peaceful expression when Wonwoo’d come to visit, waiting for him to wake up. For the first time in months he’d prayed to the dragons. Against his hold Soonyoung’s hand was cold, almost lifeless. The only sign he was alive was the steady up and down of his chest, unnoticeable if one wasn’t looking hard enough. You do it so many times you get used to it, they’ve been taught. Wonwoo’s accuracy is impeccable from all the training he’d gotten. Every unit’s honed until all movements are sharp enough, until killing becomes as normal as breathing. How many times have Soonyoung gone through the same exact scene: watch as Wonwoo’s taken away, passed out and barely breathing, and then wait for him to wake up, fearing he’ll never will. Nobody gets used to it. Nobody will ever get used to it. I can do this now, Soonyoung’d said, eyes bright with the glow of his hand, the one that touched Wonwoo’s skin. How many times Soonyoung’d probably prayed as fervently as Wonwoo’d done, clutching at his seemingly lifeless hand, wishing he could do more. Again, and again, and again, hoping he’d get used to it, and yet knowing he’ll never will. Every week, every other night. Soonyoung’s right; for all the times they’ve stayed up and honed their bodies and minds all their life to protect the country, put their lives on the line for people who didn’t even know who they were, nobody had sat them down to say, Here. This is what you do to cope with having your better half die in battle.

This time, Soonyoung must’ve thought. This time he can finally do something about it. This time he wouldn’t just wait--he’d speed up the process, be the one to be there when Wonwoo woke up, finally regaining consciousness.

Red-faced Soonyoung crying over an injury not his own, cursing his inability to be of any actual use, pushing down on Wonwoo’s skin and hoping he’s at least lessening the pain. It’s taken a while, but now Wonwoo’s understood.

“I’ll be more careful in battle,” Wonwoo assures him now, the only thing he’s able to do at the moment. “So you don’t have to worry.”

“No need,” Soonyoung says, grin wide, stance finally loosening, relaxed and comfortable. Finally letting his weakness show, Wonwoo seeing him for who he really is. A kid who’s had to grow up way too fast, felt the need to put up a wall to convince himself of his newfound strength. “I’ll protect you,” he says, and while Soonyoung’s sounded unsure about everything else, this time he’s firm in his conviction.

When Wonwoo breathes in the air feels lighter, the burden of war seemingly nonexistent for a while. Soonyoung pushes into Wonwoo’s skin one more time before he snakes his arms around his back, and pulls him in. Wonwoo lets it happen, stumbling into the awkward embrace, relearning the way Soonyoung’s shape molded against his, remembering how it felt to be once whole.

 

*

 

“Why a Trickster?” Wonwoo asks later, watching as Jeonghan moved on from openly wooing Jihoon to now blatantly flirting with Minghao. “You could’ve just changed into a Sage[10]. They heal too, don’t they?”

As an answer Soonyoung fishes out a few gold coins from his pocket. “Makes me a better thief,” he says, grin wide. “Swords are way cooler, too.”

Wonwoo would rebut, except Minghao’s sidled up to them with a scoff Wonwoo would’ve found offensive if it were directed at him. “Jisoo-hyung tried helping him become a Falcon Knight[11], too, Wonwoo-hyung. He sucked.”

“Riiiiiiiight. That, too,” Soonyoung says, loudly, and then, “Uh, Myungho? Where’s Jeonghan-hyung?”

“Playing with Mingus, why?”

But Mingus is nowhere to be seen.

From above they hear familiar laughter, a chilling, “Thanks a lot, Myungho-ya!” as Mingus covers up the sun, bathing them in its shadow. Seungcheol barely bats an eye anymore whenever Mingus flies around on his own over their group, chasing birds, shitting on the least lucky unit. Given a few minutes Jeonghan could escape if he wanted to. All those days of asking Minghao to ride Mingus and this is what he uses the knowledge for, fucking escaping. Of course.

“I’ll get Hansol,” Minghao says, already running off in the wrong direction.

“Myungho, you idiot, he’s on the other side of camp!” Soonyoung shouts.

Wonwoo opens up a tome, in no rush at all, and points his open palm to Mingus’s flying form.

“Tomes are way cooler, though?” Wonwoo says, smirking, as he watches fliers start to rush towards Mingus’s flailing body after Wonwoo’s struck it, aiming to immobilise, not hurt. “Sucks you can’t use them now, Soonyoung.”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you over the number of coins jingling in my pocket right now. Thanks, Wonwoo-ya.”

While he processes the information Soonyoung’s already making a run for it, cackling loudly. Blood rushes up Wonwoo’s face, heating his cheeks in rapid pace. “Shit,” he says, before he aims his open palm to Soonyoung’s retreating form, and summons a storm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Tricksters are basically thieves, except they are able to use both staffs and swords. Thieves can only use the sword  
> [2] Tacticians are generally in charge of war tactics and strategy, capable of wielding both a sword and a tome  
> [3] tomes = spell books  
> [4] altho originally a female-only class, the latest installment of the fire emblem franchise (not counting the one that came out this year) had a single male cross dresser. Troubadours are horse-mounted healers, incapable of offense  
> [5] tome-users capable of using dark magic  
> [6] dark magic. A spell used to absorb ~~HP~~ life force from an enemy.  
> [7] female-only class. Manaketes are shape-shifters, half-human half-dragon  
> [8] units who wield axes  
> [9] another group of shape-shifters, half-human half… rabbit??  
> [10] Magic-users capable of healing  
> [11] Pegasus-mounted units that wield both staffs and lances  
>   
>  class list i didnt mention in the fic:
> 
> coups - lord  
> jun - dark flier  
> wonwoo - dark mage  
> the8 - wyvern rider  
> dk - cavalier  
> chan - mercenary
> 
> also to ppl who actually played fe:  
> \- weapons can only be used a limited amt of uses in the game, so the same mechanic is applied here. tomes are discarded after a certain amt of use (w/c is still such a ??? mechanic for me, side-eyes @ IS, so lets just assume that per spell a page... is apparently...... ripped off? idk shoot me)  
> \- promotion is completely disregarded on here!! w/c is why sy just goes from dark mage to trickster w/o being a thief first;;;;  
> THAT IS ALL


End file.
